


How a Resurrection Really Feels

by lazarus_girl



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Determined to use her final year at Hester as a fresh start, Karma returns to school with a new attitude, a new perspective on life, and a new relationship with Amy. Everything’s changed between them, but to protect their blossoming romance, they’re happy to let everyone else think it’s exactly the same.</p><p>
  <i>“Everything is possible.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	How a Resurrection Really Feels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizardwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardwriter/gifts).



> Follows canon up to the end of 2B and deviates thereafter, taking liberties with the timeline. In this version of events, Amy only left Austin for six weeks. Based very loosely on an idea given to me by the lovely @lizardwriter about Karmy sharing a favourite book. It gave me the opportunity to look at that summer in a different way, and then I started to think about how they might behave as a new couple, completely in love, but choosing to keep their relationship private. All that, and a lot of other things are weaved throughout this story. Title from/inspired by the The Hold Steady song of the same name.

_“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees,_  
_just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that_  
_life was beginning over again with the summer.”_  
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby._

*******

Everything is new. Your dress is new, your shoes are new, your backpack and the huge assortment of stationery inside it is new. Even your hair is new, you cut it a little, abandoned your plan to stay with the natural chocolate brown you haven’t had since freshman year, and went for a box of ‘Red Hot Caramel’ instead – a little lighter than your usual bright auburn red. It’s nice. It’s getting you second and third looks going down the hall for the right reasons this time, which is also new. Except, all that attention, nice as it is, is also wasted, because there’s someone new in your life too. Well, that’s kind of a lie, they’ve been in your life forever, but the role they have within it is new. You and Amy are together now. Amy’s your girlfriend. For real.

It’s still kind of a novelty to say that, even if it’s only in your head.

You’re not keeping it a secret, exactly, but if someone asked, you wouldn’t lie. It’s more that you don’t feel the need to go all _The Sound of Music_ and broadcast it off the school roof. Actually, you kind of do, because you thought Amy as a best friend was just about the most wonderful human being on the planet, but Amy as a girlfriend? She’s just all those things and _more_. Like amazing kisses more, and ridiculously amazing sex more. You’re on a learning curve when it comes to the latter. It’s a pretty recent development, and you’re still getting used to what feels good to you, and what feels good to her. Even so, it’s still the kind of sex that makes you go _wow_ (yes. really).

Amy’s a kind, patient teacher, and you’re a very willing student.

Truthfully, you feel like you’re five years old again on your first day at kindergarten, as opposed to an almost eighteen-year-old in the first few weeks of her final year in high school. Everything feels possible. You actually have the capacity to come out of this year with something concrete, some solid grades that allow for solid life choices before you’re catapulted into the wilderness of real-life beyond the Hester and Austin bubble. School is a few weeks in, you’re settling into your classes and the heaviness of the schedule, regretting – as always – your decision to join way too many after school clubs. You were determined not to spread yourself too thin, since you still have your shifts at the Violet Crown Cinema, but the sight of Margot – sorry, Miss Lefevre, Principal Turner is still trying to enforce some formality around here – coming down the hall like it’s a Paris runway was enough to get you to think twice about re-auditioning for Drama Club. This time, you got in. Amy came along for moral support, and clapped so loud when you finished singing that Margot made her leave. Luckily, you managed to stay on the right side of the auditorium doors. Margot’s taken to you, it seems.

She’s stopped digging to find out who you are.

You’ve stopped digging too, or, at least there’s enough dirt behind your back for all that digging to be less tiresome, and the threat of it all falling in on you is much less terrifying. You have support systems you see, ones that aren’t just Amy, so you don’t have to heap it all on her slight shoulders. You’re not proud of that. You’re not proud of how you’ve behaved towards Amy in the last couple of years. You’re not proud that you couldn’t tell her your life was a mess, and your head was a mess, and your heart didn’t know which way was up when it came to her. Confused sounds such a small, trifling word for the twisted, often painful tangle of emotions that Amy stirred. You needed time and space to work things out. It’s still very much a work in progress, but Amy, joining the GSA at school, and most surprisingly of all, Shane, have really helped you. The open-mindedness and love your parents have nurtured in you was always something meant for other people, never something for yourself, and that had to change. You had to start being kinder to yourself, but you also had to acknowledge what you’d done wrong too. Good intentions aside, it turns out that was a lot more than you anticipated.

You finally understand what your mom means when she says you should do ‘everything in balance.’

 

 _To: ktashcroft@hesterhigh.org_  
_From: beth.lawrence@hesterhigh.org  
_ _Subject: Meeting_

_Hi Karma,_

_I thought that now that we’re a few weeks into the new semester, it would be a good time for us to catch up and see how you’re doing. Both Principal Turner and I are in agreement that our chats were beneficial, so I’m happy to continue as long as you want to do so._

_Message me back with a time that works for you and I’ll block it out. Would twenty minutes be long enough?_

_Look forward to seeing you._

_Beth_

 

 _Beth Lawrence_  
_Department of English_  
_Hester High School_  
_1715 West Cesar Chavez Street_  
_Austin, Texas 78703  
_ _(512) 414-2505_

 

That’s why you’re here now with Amy, hovering outside Miss Lawrence’s office while she finishes up talking with Matt Paige. She’s been your and Amy’s homeroom and English teacher since freshman year, but she’s really been there for you through all the crap with the drug bust and the whole not having-a-real-home thing. You’re being flippant about it now, but it hurt at the time, it added to the weight you were already carrying. She was one of the only people, save for Amy that noticed when it got too heavy for you to keep carrying. It’s not going to be a bad thing, it’s just a check in, but you’re nervous all the same.

“What if I walk in there and she says my paper blows and Turner gets to throw me out anyway?”

The thought is kind of a buzzkill, and that lighter-than-air feeling you’ve had while walking down the hall arm-in-arm with Amy threatens to plummet.

“Karm,” Amy says softly, sliding out her arm from where it wraps around yours. “She’s not going to, OK? Turner wouldn’t _dare_. You aced that shit. Trust me,” she continues. “You read that email fifty thousand times before you even replied, it’s gonna be fine. Plus, it’s _Miss Lawrence_ , she brings us candy on holidays,” she smiles, trying to hold your gaze. “Have a little faith, huh?”

“I just don’t want all our work, our summer, to have been for nothing,” you admit, looking down at your hands.

“Hey, I wouldn’t say it was a total waste of time,” she shrugs.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you jump in hastily.

There are a lot things you’d change about the summer break, like Amy’s time away, and all the time swallowed up working so you weren’t living completely off Farrah like some freeloading leach, but there’s just as much you wouldn’t change at all, like what happened when Amy came back.

“I know what you meant,” she overlaps. “I was just messing with you. I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“Even all those hours reading Gatsby to me while trying to survive the heat even though you’ve read it a thousand times?” you ask, brow raised in question.

It’s her favourite of all favourite novels, she can recite most of it without even trying. She keeps telling you that she had fun, and that it didn’t matter she spent so much of the remainder of her summer after the tour behind closed doors, but you still feel indebted to her for what she gave up.

“Even that,” she nods. “But only because I was reading to you.”

There was something about listening to her voice, even when things were still awkward between you that gave you comfort. A lot of passages stick with you, but not because you’ve talked about them so much, but because of how they sounded; the soft lilt of her voice, the rhythm it has that makes everything – even when she’s swearing up a storm at the Kardashians on TV – seem kind of beautiful. You’re standing closer now, and she’s just looking at you, smiling that soft, sweet smile that’s become so familiar to you. You think it could cure pretty much anything. Maybe even bring about world peace. If you were anywhere else now, you’d kiss her for that.

“I’ll see you out on the quad at one for lunch then?” she asks, her hand brushes yours with the lightest of touches. Even with so few people around, it’s a risk. An exciting, dizzying sort of risk.

“OK,” you nod, pretending not to notice, but revelling in it all anyway. “See you then.”

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of how she makes you feel now. How content, how loved, how _wanted_.

She turns away, starting to walk back the way you came, and you feel lonely all of a sudden.

As lovesick and nauseating as it is, you kind of wish she would come in with you. There’s nothing she can’t hear and you’ll tell her all about it, but everyone agreed it’s best you have these meetings alone.

“Wait,” she turns back again quickly, “did you want me to get you anything?”

She’s the sweetest. You tilt your head, pondering the question, wondering if she could charm extra berry flapjacks out of Urma, the lunch lady, to get you through the horror of Mr Flint’s math class this afternoon. Possibly.

“A salad maybe? With a strawberry and banana smoothie,” you reply, and she gives you a dorky little thumbs up. “Oh, and this,” you walk back to her, striding the few steps that separate you confidently, before pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

It’s over pretty much before it began and she doesn’t really have time to react, but she looks somewhere between surprised and proud anyway. That was an even bigger risk, but you kind of don’t care who sees right now. Not when Amy’s being like this, not when there aren’t really any rules to follow except ones of your own making.

“Yeah, I don’t think Urma’s gonna give me _that,_ ” she laughs, cheeks flushing a little. “I could try?”

“That was for you, not Urma,” you assure, confidence and adrenaline soaring.

“Good to know,” she replies, leaning over to give you a quick peck of a kiss back.

For a moment, nothing else matters. Amy’s looking at you and you’re looking at her. It’s wonderful, and perfect, and so _worth_ everything that came before it, and you feel like kissing her again, but then the door to Miss Lawrence’s office slams loudly and you’re back in the real world, crash landing back from a trip to Planet Amy, and you remember you’re at school in the hallway with a meeting to go to.

“Karma?” you turn in response to the sound, seeing Miss Lawrence’s head peeking out from her office door.

“I’ll be right there,” you call.

Amy gives a little wave, and then Matt Paige is rolling past you both on his skateboard with a “Hey ladies!”

“Matthew!” Miss Lawrence calls, sternly, “We talked about this, the hallway is _not_ a skate park!”

“I got it, Miss!” he yells, saluting as he weaves around Amy, making her laugh. God, you love her. You really do, and you’ll never tire of telling her that either. “Just tryin’ to be efficient like Turner says, it’s the most effective way to get from A to B!”

“You know what you’ll get!” Miss Lawrence replies, shaking her head. “Go, now, leave Amy alone and go and terrorise Mr Johnson!”

“I’ll tell him you said that, Miss!” he laughs heartily, tipping the tail of his board down so it slows to a stop, picking it up.

If Matt saw anything, he didn’t say anything, or yell about it like you thought he might. Ninety-nine percent of the time he’s an idiot with a big mouth that spends more time outside class than in it, but maybe he’s not so stupid after all.

You practically skip back to Miss Lawrence’s office, picking up your bag from where you left it on the row of chairs outside.

“Sorry he gatecrashed your moment there,” she says, with a soft look as she leans against her office door to keep it open.

“Oh what? Matt’s cool, it’s – you’re rambling, feeling your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I feel like you have a lot to tell me, Karma,” she replies, with knowing smile. “Look at you! You look great. This is very nice,” she continues, indicating your outfit. “It seems like a lot has changed since we last spoke.”

You let out a peal of laughter as she waves you inside. “That’s kind of an understatement.”

“Well,” she begins, reaching to close the door behind you both. “You know what they say, begin at the beginning.”

Begin at the beginning? You’re not sure where that really is. There are a lot of beginnings where Amy’s concerned. The place most people would class as the beginning was when you met as little girls at the ballpit, but she already knows that. Then, there’s the other beginning, where Amy kissed you at the homecoming rally, but she knows about that too, she was there. All that leaves is what she doesn’t know, which is probably the real beginning, so that’s where you’ll start from. You’ll tell her how things have changed. How you changed Amy, and how Amy changed you. How you got to be this happy, new-improved Karma. Or, at least, you’re going to try.

You’re still kind of nervous, and you have no idea why she’s taken such an interest in you, but you’re glad. Being in this office has always made you comfortable. It feels safe in here, a safe place to be. Like going to a priest for confession, except there’s no confession box and no heady, sickly sweet smell of incense and candle wax. Instead, there’s a room lined with books, and a small old leather couch to sit on while Miss Lawrence moves her desk chair around. And every time you come in, you get hit by a wall off coffee and Marc Jacobs perfume that envelopes you.

OK, Miss Lawrence is no priest, but you always feel better for having been here.

Over on her desk, you can see a huge stack of papers, and you’re tense again, itching to go and look, just to get the whole thing over with. She seems to pick up on it, turning her chair so it obscures the pile behind it.

“Later,” she says. “I want to talk about you first. I’ve pretty much had my fill of Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan!”

Her humour eases things a little, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. In the grand scheme of things, you know the paper doesn’t really matter, but it’s more what it’s come to signify between you and Amy – like the treaty of Versailles or something. It brought you back together.

“So, the big questions first? I’m doing much better.”

“So I see,” she nods, sinking into her seat. “I have to say Karma, whatever,” a pause, a smile. “Or whoever has happened over the summer, it’s done wonders.”

You nod shyly, perched on the edge of the couch. “Thanks.”

“Really, it’s great to see you looking so well.”

“I feel better,’ you say, needlessly, wanting to fill the silence but wanting so much to make sure she knows that’s true. You _do_ feel better. Lighter and happier, more determined and secure, like you’ve been supercharged somehow.

“Good.”

“So, I guess I should start with where I’m living now,” you begin, settling back into the couch, backpack next to you like a companion.

“Uh-huh,” she replies, between sips of a coffee she’s still nursing. “How are things there? I know that was pretty difficult, adding to things you were already struggling with.”

Struggling. It sounds cute when she puts it like that. So ordinary and teenage. Maybe it was. Maybe getting drunk and going all _Girls Gone Wild_ wasn’t the best way to deal with losing your home, what passed for a family, and then Amy as you knew her pretty much overnight.

“Well, my mom is with my aunt Sage,” you pause, catching yourself to correct it to “Sara,” and she nods. “In Arizona, she’s helping her get things together, working on a jewellery business. She needed a break.”

“And your dad?”

The way she keeps gently prodding you for questions, you half expect her to be scribbling down notes, like she’s your therapist, keeping time so you make it within the hour. She could’ve been, because she’s told you a lot about her time at Harvard taking psych and English before she went into teaching. For a while, she even made you think about doing the same. She’s not a therapist though, she’s just good at giving you perspective, getting you to talk, and most importantly of all, listening. Looking back on it, that’s all you’ve ever needed really. When you didn’t, wouldn’t, or just plain _couldn’t_ talk about this stuff with Amy, she’s been there instead.

“Missouri. He’s at the Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.”

You stop there, waiting for Miss Lawrence to scoff like Shane and Lauren did, or be angry like Farrah and Amy ultimately were. She does neither.

“Oh,” you watch a flash of concern go across her features, but she hides it quickly.

Your parents effectively abandoned you, thinly-veiled under the pretence of getting their lives together and not wanting to pull you further into their bizarre shitstorm. You’ve had almost eighteen years of it, so why did they do it now? They call every week, send money when they can. You could’ve gone with them, and for a while, before Amy got back, Missouri felt like a good idea. After weeks of no contact - nothing, _zero_ \- even Houston felt like a good idea.

“Thankfully,” you start, watching Miss Lawrence’s shoulders drop, her relief palpable. “Amy’s mom took me in, saved me from being Hester’s answer to Annie.”

You never thought Farrah would be the one to come to your rescue. The white knight in your life has always been Amy. For a long time, you wondered why she did it, then you wondered why she didn’t tell Amy about the arrangement, and then you wondered if she did it because she missed Amy more than she let on, and having you there was the closest she could get. It’s built this strange warmth - you won’t say affection, not yet, there are still very clear lines you don’t cross - between you. Honestly, you have no idea how to thank her, because she took you in when you really had nowhere else to turn.

“Can’t say I expected that,” she replies, eyes wide.

You snort. “Me either.”

“She’s … Well, she’s not Amy is probably the nicest thing can say. Anything else might get me fired.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t, Miss Lawrence,” you reply, conspiratorial.

“Deal,” she leans forward and you shake on it, smiling. “Oh, and please call me Beth,” she reminds you gently. “Mr Turner’s rules don’t apply in here. Miss Lawrence makes me think of my mom, or the IRS. Neither of those things are good.”

“OK,” you laugh. “Beth.”

You haven’t seen her mom, but you have seen the picture on her desk. She looks like she was cut from the same terrifying, stern Southern woman cloth as Farrah.

“End of last semester,” she pauses choosing her words carefully. “It wasn’t great between you,” you sigh heavily. She noticed. People noticed. “How’d she take it?

You have the biggest urge to laugh, because you’ll never forget her reaction. Upon finding you sitting on her bed, waiting for her, having slept in it for weeks without her, there was no cheesy slo-mo run running that ended in a lift and spin hug like the moves. In fact, there was nothing, except for an exasperated ‘you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me’ followed by the sound of the door slamming and Amy stomping down the stairs. That hurt for a long time, even more than the silent treatment that followed it.

“Not well,” you do laugh then, but it rings kind of hollow. “I gatecrashed her life, her house, her room,” you can feel tears welling up unexpectedly, stinging. Beth looks sympathetic, sliding the box of tissues that sits on nearby coffee table a little closer. You take one out, if only to give your hands something to do. “All she wanted was space, you know? We both needed space, but then she went on tour with this band and, there was so much space between us …” you tail off, not wanting to lose it like this. “It was hard.”

“But it got better?” she ventures, eyes kind, already knowing the answer.

You manage a small smile through your tears, dabbing at your eyes with the tissue. “So much better.”

The image of Amy, sleeping next to you this morning comes into your head. You stroked her back, fingertips ghosting across her skin as a wake up call before the alarm really goes off. Those minutes are your favourite. Being with her in that room is bliss. You love her like that, bed-warm and still sleepy. You love how she kisses you: slow, and soft, and easy, her hands framing your face. You love how she looks at you with such reverence, such _joy_ , when she says ‘good morning, beautiful,’ every day.

That’s not something for Beth to hear though, that’s just something for you to keep. Everyone knew everything last time and despite craving that attention, once you had it, you hated it. Holding back around other people is getting hard, but it’s worth it when you remind yourself of how that visibility almost cost you everything.

“When you’ve known each other as long as you and Amy have, and there’s that closeness, that bond, I know it can get messy, it can be confusing,” she shifts in her seat, crossing her legs. “It sounds cliché, but it’s different between girls - women - the intensity is different. The loss is different when the depth of that connection changes,” you nod along, because she’s making complete sense. “I think you had to figure out a lot of stuff, tough stuff. And maybe in there,” she shrugs slightly, “you had to do some grieving, you know?”

You just look at for a moment, because now she’s making less sense than before. No one _actually_ died here. Except, there are times when it felt that way. When it felt like you’d lost a limb because Amy had suddenly become someone you couldn’t just text or call whenever you wanted. It felt that way when you were cleaning up poolside, wishing away a tension headache listening to Shane bitch, and the empty, deep water looked really inviting. It felt that way when you were alone at night in Amy’s bed, staring up at the stars on her ceiling, not feeling like you were living under the same sky anymore.

“For the people you thought you were,” she offers, when you don’t speak.

Oh. Of course. The death of who you used to be. The death of who you used to be to each other.

“Yeah,” you agree, toying with the damp tissue in your hands. “I guess we did.”

It all sounds so clear, so rational when she says it like that. Everything makes sense. But, when you were going through it, fighting your way through a tangled mess of thoughts and feelings - alone for the most part - it didn’t seem that clear at all.

The Amy that left you and the Amy that came back were different in so many ways, but then, still the same Amy you’ve always known and cared more about than anyone else. And that was the hard part. Caring when all you wanted to do was not care at all. You resented her for leaving. You hated her for it even, because she’d turned her back and given up. She hated you for a while because you couldn’t quite understand why she did it. Of course, now you’ve talked about it and have the gift of 20/20 hindsight. It makes total sense for her to need space. Your stamping on her heart was the last and most hurtful rejection she got that day: first Reagan, then her mom proclaiming Lauren as daughter she never had - Amy’s forgiven a lot of things over this summer, but you know that still stings. And finally, rubbing salt into an already open wound, was you. Rejecting her. Again.

The final insult.

She always says that it wasn’t the fact that you thought you didn’t or couldn’t love her, it was that she didn’t know how to do anything else. She had to learn how to let the idea go, while still being your friend. She got pretty close to doing it in the end. Terrifyingly close.

“Sometimes you need that space, to clear the air and start again,” she comments, draining the last of her coffee.

“You want to know what got us there, or what got us here?” you brighten and she nods encouragingly.

“If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen, that’s always been our deal hasn’t it?”

“Gatsby saved us,” you admit, with a laugh.

Beth matches you, full and loud. “I’m sorry,” she says, catching herself. “It's just that novel usually inspires riots in my classes, not reunions! Though, Amy did write a great paper on it last year, so you’re living with the right person.”

“It’s her favourite novel,” you counter, as if it explains everything.

It kind of does.

Somehow, you managed to survive the hellishly long six-week separation while she was on tour, and the even more hellish period that followed her return. Things were awkward, and tense, and frosty. You avoided her by taking more shifts at work, distracting yourself with cleaning up popcorn and soda spills. You sat silently at the same dinner table, using Lauren as a conduit to talk through. You slept back to back in the same bed. There was no fondness. There was nothing. Then, during a week of storms and stifling heat, Amy came out to where you were sitting in the yard under the shade of the trees for respite, and she dropped her well-thumbed, annotated copy of _The Great Gatsby_ into your lap with ‘figured you could use this,’ and walked away again. There was something different about her that day, seeing her show something almost like kindness, which you hadn’t seen from her in a for a long time. Something you thought lost.

It wasn’t much, but was something.

“I’d been struggling to catch up for weeks. I just couldn’t do everything alone anymore.” Beth frowns, but doesn’t say anything. “I had math and chemistry, and I knew was running out of time to write the paper. Amy ended up tutoring me basically, explained stuff so I could understand it better.”

“I hope that’s not a reflection on my teaching?” she notes with a wry smile.

“Oh I didn’t mean –” you jump in, horrified.

“Karma,” she holds up a hand. “I’m just kidding. She’s pretty natural teacher.”

“She’d read Gatsby to me while I was doing other things, and then we’d talk about it. I just felt like …” you trail off, searching for the words. “It clicked all of a sudden.”

Maybe you’re not just talking about Gatsby anymore.

“Amy’s gonna put me out of a job in a few years,” she declares, with the same fond look as before.

She knows it’s not just about Gatsby anymore too.

“Miss Raudenfeld,” you reply, in the exhale of a breath, not able to hide the lightness or the pride in your voice at the thought.

“I can see it. She might have to put those genius auteur plans on hold.”

You let yourself smile fully for the first time. “She wants to get a movie to Sundance or Telluride.”

“If anyone can, she can.”

“I know,” you say, sure and certain.

“I tell you guys this a lot, but now’s the time you have to chase everything you want. Chase things, make mistakes.”

The tutoring started out as a purely functional arrangement, with a fixed time at the dining room table, it started as a way for Amy to get her mom off her back because she was tired of her lounging around on the sofa all day. At first, Amy was hardline, but encouraging, breaking things down into smaller tasks that seemed less horrendous. As the days went on, Amy’s chair got closer to yours, she got softer, calmer, and started to open up again. You’d find yourselves talking about Gatsby all the time, debating in the corner of The Brew & Chew with countless iced chai’s and latte’s, with Amy enthusiastically telling you that Gatsby wasn’t about Gatsby at all, but really ‘the power women exert over men.’ From that moment on, everything was different. Working on the paper was different. Things between you and Amy were different. She’d come to the cinema when you were on shift and you’d get her in for free. You became friends again. You laughed and joked your way through clean up with her there waiting, sneaking extra popcorn.

“You should never let anyone tell you no, Karma. Everything is possible.”

You never used to believe that, not truly, but now you do. The fact that you and Amy found your way back to each other is all the proof you need.

As a thank you for all her hard work so far – you never want to do any algebra _ever_ again – you persuaded Brad to make Amy an ice cream float because she was dying in the heat. He’s your only work buddy, and defender against the advances of Super Sketchy Sean (Amy’s title, you like it), so you’ve called your fair share of favours, but he gave in like he always does. You shared it with her outside on the steps of the cinema, revelling in its cooling, diabetes-inducing glory. That night, you got Amy back. You were Amy and Karma again. Like you knew she would, Amy got half the ice cream all over her face, so you had to lean over and fix it with a thousand napkins while she blushed and squirmed. Like she always does, she said a soft, sweet ‘thank you.’ Not like always, was the kiss that followed it. Something had been building between you ever since she read opening lines of Gatsby; some change, some energy you can’t name. When you looked at her like that, closer than you had in months, it felt like all that _something_ was reaching an undefined peak, and you knew you wanted to kiss her. You really wanted to. Mouth dry, heart racing in your chest, you moved incrementally closer, determined not to fight it and let it happen. After all the wondering and the waiting, and the pain and the confusion, you just kissed her - nervous, and gentle, and terrified she might push you away. But, she didn’t, she just kissed right back. When you pulled away, she smiled, brushed the hair that had fallen into your eyes and kissed you again.

It was as simple as that. No drama, no speeches, no tears, as natural as breathing.

“You’ve had a rough time, and it’s a testament to how strong you are that you’ve come out of it OK.”

You heave a little sigh. “I don’t always feel like that.”

The only person who says things to you like this is Amy, and though you’re trying, you’re really trying not to be so quick to fall into that frame of mind, but it’s hard to believe when your whole life has been lived in the shadow of Zen, and the fallout of unorthodox parenting.

Beth leans forward then, keeping eye contact with you. “And it’s OK to feel like that, Karma. I don’t want you to think that because things are improving, that means I’ll walk away and care less, because that’s not happening.”

“I’d never think that,” you blurt out.

“I’m not supposed to have favourites,” she begins, looking at you fondly. “But you and Amy are the only two students who didn’t make my life a complete _effing_ misery when I started teaching here. And, for that,” she chuckles. “I’ll always be thankful. You guys mean a lot to mean, you’re the first class I’ll see right through to graduation.”

“That’s weird,” you pause when she frowns. “Not you! Thinking about graduation and stuff.”

“Oh! There’s still a while yet, didn’t mean to make you panic. You should wait until after Christmas break before you let all the nostalgia creep in.”

“And the panic?”

“And the panic,” she echoes. “That’s normal too. Anyone who isn’t deathly afraid of the real world is a liar.”

You _are_ afraid. You’re afraid of leaving Austin and leaving Amy (or Amy leaving again) when you’ve just found happiness with each other. You’ve barely been together a month and it feels like everything is ticking down already, some invisible hourglass with sand speeding down. You miss the summer when time felt endless. When it felt like forever.

“Speaking of the real world, as much as I’d like to spend all afternoon talking, but I have my afternoon freshmen class soon, so I better put you out of your misery and show you your paper.”

“Oh fuck!” you mutter, realising that Beth is up and out of her chair, going toward the stack of papers on her desk. “Sorry,” you add quickly, remembering where you are.

Beth stifles a laugh. “Remember what I said about panic. Not yet.”

The paper. The paper you absolutely cannot fail because you _just_ scraped a pass on the math questions, and Mrs Teague hasn’t given you back the chem ones yet, so you have no idea how that will go. If the amount of time it took Amy to go over the material is anything to go by, you’re screwed.

She seems to take forever to find it. How can she? Your surname begins with ‘A’. It should be at the top, unless it’s in numerical order and it’s so _fucking_ abysmal that it’s right at the bottom. You move closer to the edge of the couch, eyes trained on the back of her head. This is even worse than the agonising wait you had when Amy read the final draft, sitting indian style across from you on her bed, both in your pyjamas, too hot to sleep, but too tired to stay awake. You remember how proud she looked when she read the title: ‘The Emancipated Women of The Great Gatsby.’ You remember your heart practically leaping out of your chest every time she turned the page, wondering when her red pen would strike, if at all.

Your heart did leap, twenty or so minutes later, when she leant over and put the pen and paper down on the nightstand, before declaring ‘you’re so fucking amazing,’ and smothering you with kisses. Suddenly, the heat didn’t matter, your tiredness sure as _shit_ didn’t matter, because she was kissing you in this heated, hungry way, and your hands were all over each other. Then, what little you were wearing was taken off between more kisses, and more touching, more _everything_. It was happening, you were having sex with Amy and there was no plan and absolutely no fear - more a nervous, excited panic, because you had to try and stay quiet and it almost _killed_ you - and it felt safe, and right, and insanely _good_. You ended the night sweaty and breathless, wrapped up in her while she held you and stroked you. Staring up at the stars on her ceiling, you wondered if they really do align, and why the _hell_ it took you so long to let yourself love her if being with her made you feel as good as that. You felt even better when you did it again later, listening to her gentle whispered words of encouragement. And again, slow and drowsy as the sun seeped in through the curtains, until you finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

“Got it!” Beth says, waving the paper in triumph. “Sorry for the dramatic pause. I really didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“It’s erm, Oh-OK,” you stutter, mouth dry.

You watch her cross the room and sit next to you on the couch, hating how nervous and sweaty-palmed you’re getting over some paper, but it’s not just _school_ , it’s not just _words_. Somewhere over the course of the summer, that book and those words meant more than paper and ink. Your heart is beating so fast and so loud, you don’t know how she can’t hear it.

“Take a look, it won’t bite, I promise,” she coaxes gently, holding the paper face down so you can’t see the grade.

You’re being ridiculous, you know you are. If Amy was here now, she would’ve leaped up to read it just to put you out of your misery. For a few very long seconds, you don’t take in what it says.

 

 **First Marker:** Beth Lawrence  
**Second Marker:** Melissa Tucker  
**Agreed Final Grade:** A+

 

“What?!” you shriek ridiculously loud and Beth laughs. “Are you fucking with me? Is this for real?”

“Totally for real,” she replies, barely able to keep from smiling.

“This has to be a joke or something.”

“It was a pleasure to read, let me tell you. I don’t get a lot of essays like that. This is college-level stuff, Karma.”

At that, your jaw drops open and you almost feel like crying with relief. You’ve never gotten grades like this before in your entire life. You get B’s on good days, and barely scrape passes on the bad days. This. Does. Not. Happen. Even though you’re staring at the huge A+ on the right hand corner of the paper written in red marker that confirms it, you still can’t believe it’s true.

“Writing this nearly killed me. It’s totally my own work. Amy just helped with getting my thoughts straight, and the grammar because I suck at grammar,” you say, tumbling out of you all in one breath, because you can see Miss Tucker hovering outside the door, and you’re terrified she’s going to burst and call you out for plagiarism after they ran it through one of those things online.

“I know, Karma. It shows,” she reassures, placing a hand on your shoulder. “See that there?” she continues, pointing towards the handwritten comments on the cover sheet, “It’s all true, and you earned it. Every word of it. I’m so pleased for you.”

You nod, blinking back tears. The happy kind, finally daring to read what she and Miss Tucker have said the first time.

“Amy’s gonna flip!”

 

_Karma_

_This is an intelligent, thoughtful piece of writing. Through deft marshalling of sources and effective use of quotes, you demonstrate a depth of understanding for Fitzgerald’s writing and the characters he’s created that college freshman would struggle to grasp. This work shows great promise, and if you aren’t already considering majoring in English at college next year, you should be. You hard work certainly shows. Well done!_

 

You read the whole thing four times before it actually sinks in. You did it. You aced something. You didn’t phone it in or half ass it. For the first time in your life, you nailed it. You, Karma 'school-is-about-your-social-life-not-good-grades’ Ashcroft.

“Thank you so much!”

“No, thank you!” she’s still smiling, handing you another tissue to dab at your eyes. “Your classmates have a lot to live up to now.”

Then, there’s a knock at the door, and Miss Tucker pops her head around. She’s not mad at all, she’s beaming.

“Hey there, superbrain!”

“Hey, Miss Tucker!” you reply, cringing a little before you add “Melissa,” and correct your mistake.

You flip the paper around for her to see, even though it’s stupid because she’s probably read it fifty times, but her face looks like it’s the first time.

“ _That_ ,” she starts, pointing at the paper as she pulls Beth’s chair closer to sit. “Is the kind of paper you dream of reading, nevermind getting to grade.”

“Thanks,” you give a shy nod.

You like her. After Beth, she’s your favourite teacher. When your mom met her at the last parent-teacher conference, she couldn’t stop talking about how positive her aura was. You’re not so sure about that, but you are sure that she’s _cool_ , like really cool. She went to Wellesley and walks around with amazing shoes and bags, and her hair looks like something out of a L’Oreal commercial. Always. If you merged her and Beth, you’d get exactly the kind of woman you really want to be when you grow up.

“You tell her yet, Beth?” Melissa asks, sharing a knowing look with her.

“Nope, we had a lot to discuss.”

They’re both smiling now.

“What?” you blurt out, not sure if you can take the tension.

“How’s your schedule?” Beth ventures.

You groan. Between work, school, drama club, assignments and trying to something vaguely resembling a social life (also known as hanging out with Amy), you barely get time to sleep. Short of cloning yourself a la _Orphan Black_ or getting your own Time-Turner like Hermione, you’re not sure if you can make it through this year.

“Kinda sucky,” you offer.

“Would, I don’t know,” Beth jumps in, casually, “being in the same English class as Amy help things?”

Your reply is quick, given without thought. “Oh fuck yes!” you put a hand to your mouth, realising where you are and what you just said. “Sorry.”

They both laugh and say, “Don’t ever be sorry!”

“We’ve both talked about it,” Melissa takes over. They’ve clearly rehearsed this. You’ve been talked about. “And we think that you could catch up with the work on Madame Bovary. That paper proves you need to be in AP with Amy.”

“Really?” you learn forward, excited. You don’t get a lot of time with her since school got back in, so you’ll pretty much take anything right now, but the idea of being with all the smart kids for once instead of continuing to be the poster child for hippie kid average achievement is really appealing.

“I mean, you do have to leave me, and but you also get Oliver Walsh to debate with, and that’s exactly what you need right now,” Beth adds, making it sound ridiculously easy.

Oliver’s a know-it-all, and a creep, but Amy takes great joy in unravelling his arguments, so the idea of teaming up to do it with her is even better.

“Since you know, we’re going to send that paper on for the Signet Essay Contest,” Melissa says, in the most nonchalant way ever.

OK, insanely good grades you can just about handle, but this? Amy’s entered the damn thing twice and never got anything back. What the _hell_ is this day? What’s happening? When did you wake up with someone else’s life? That contest has prizes. Money prizes. Thousands of dollars that would make your life a little easier, and leapfrogs you up the list of candidates on college admissions.

“I don’t even know what to say right now!” you reply, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Say yes,” Beth urges.

“I think I should, you know, move classes and enter the contest. If you think I can?” you look between them, unsure suddenly, knowing that Amy would be urging you toward this, cheering for it the loudest.

They both nod reassuringly, and it makes you feel ten feet tall. You can do this. You can be that girl. The girl you always read about in _Seventeen_ and _Cosmo Girl_. The A-grade, popular girl with the perfect face and the perfect hair, who gets the lead in the play, and dates the hottest guy in school. OK, so the whole hot guy thing is a little outdated now. Screw that, you’re dating the hottest, most beautiful _girl_ in the school. Take that, _Seventeen_ and _Cosmo Girl_. You totally got the better deal. Amy’s perfect.

“I think, you need to think about who’s going to sponsor your submission, and go see the lovely Mrs Tate and get your schedule fixed!”

Beth leans closer, adding, “I think you need to start believing in yourself more.”

“I know. I’m trying,” you nod. You really are. Amy’s helped you so much with that too.

“Now, go tell Amy before I do,” Melissa claps. “I kept bumping into her today and it killed me not to!”

The thought of what Amy’s going to say is enough to make you smile, cheesy and wide, but you don’t care. You love her.

“You guys are so awesome!” you exclaim, hurriedly reaching for you bag. “Thank you so much!” you continue, turning to Beth.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, softly. “Til next time?”

You nod and give a little wave before you rush out the door, clutching your paper tightly, hearing it slam behind you. When you look back, Beth and Melissa are high-fiving each other.

Amy’s love might’ve changed you for the better, but Beth was there when your entire life was in pieces, holding all the ones she could find. It sounds dramatic, but without her, Amy wouldn’t have anyone to love. You have no idea what would’ve happened to you.

You run down the hall faster than you ever have before, eager and excited to get to see her before afternoon classes start. The stairs you usually hate are taken two at a time, and you feel lighter than air, body flooded with adrenaline, and happiness, and _hope_ for the first time in a long time. All your hard work’s paid off. You don’t even care when you get stuck at a bottleneck by the computer labs because Matt Paige is holding court again. He winks at you before he lets you pass, but you’re not mad at that either, because you can see Amy.

Every time you see her or when she comes into a room, your heart goes a little crazy, and there’s a little butterfly party going on in your belly.

She’s sitting on the quad at the centre table, reading the copy of Cheryl Strayed’s _Tiny Beautiful Things_ , her brows cutely furrowed in concentration. You lent it to her a few weeks ago, because you really connected to it and she has too. Next to her, your lunch is waiting with what remains of her own. Even though it’s in a little takeout bag, you know everything you asked for is inside, plus a little something extra, because she’s thoughtful and likes to surprise you.

That’s what real love is, you think – not like movie love and TV love – it’s in the little things. The things that don’t make the screen or the page.

Though you’d be content to watch her forever pretty much, your excitement over the paper wins out. You’re kind of glad Shane and Lauren haven’t arrived yet, because, well Lauren gets A’s all the time, and Shane never takes school seriously - because it’s easy for him and he’s lazy - so he’d just think you were being lame. You want this to be just about you and Amy. If you could drag her off somewhere private, you would, but can’t do that without it being weird, and privacy doesn’t fit well with the other exhibitionist part of you. The part that wants to rush over and wave the thing at her and say everything Beth and Mel told you about AP, and _Madame Bovary,_ and the essay competition, and kiss her face off - _fuck_ who sees at this point.

She’s the only reason you could actually sit down to write the damn thing. She kept you focussed and held your phone hostage until you were done, scheduling writing time to make it easier to fit between shifts. But, that’s too easy, you want to play with her a little, because stupidly in love with your best friend you might be, but you still like to tease and play jokes on each other. The snark and the banter is you. It always has been. The fact that hearing her laugh or making her smile makes you all swoony and that butterfly party is fast becoming a daily event, is a new and welcome addition to the way things have always been.

Anyway, you won’t have the heart to keep it going to too long. So, you force yourself not to smile and look sad, ready to walk across to her with your best puppy face and slow, sad walk. She chooses that moment to look up and you give a little wave. Her whole face lights up. She looks so insanely happy to see you, that you _almost_ feel like going for the rush and freak out scenario. Almost. As soon as you start your walk, weaving through the clusters of students with quiet “excuse mes” while you hug the paper to your chest, she straightens up, book closed and set aside.

Her smile’s faded. You feel bad.

When you draw level, she moves her bag off the seat she’d saved, coming closer with a soft, “What happened?”

You stay silent.

Then her questions come quickly, “Are you OK? How was the meeting?” it’s obvious she wants to comfort you, but she grips the table instead, keeping to your agreement about PDA.

“I have to leave Beth’s class,” you reply, heavy and forlorn as take off your bag and sink into the seat. You keep your eyes fixed on the table, because if you look at her you’ll lose it in about ten seconds.

“What? Why?” she asks, and then, lower and angrier. “That’s bullshit!”

You sigh, only just able to keep it together. “Because,” you swallow, pausing for dramatic effect. Margot would be so proud of you right now. You can almost hear her now. ‘Find your truth Karma,’ ‘Feel the moment, Karma,’ ‘Access your emotions, Karma, be a channel for them!’

To your credit, you cry right on cue out of one eye. Amy makes this pained little noise in response and you feel horrible. This has about ten seconds before it’s cruel and not fun anymore.

“Let me see, Karm,” she puts her hand on your knee under the table. “I can totally talk to my mom about this if they’re lowballing you on purpose. I can’t see how they wouldn’t score your paper well.”

“No, it’s fine, honestly,” another dramatic pause.

“She’s on the board, she can totally shut this shit down and stick it to Turner in the process.”

“It’s fine,” you repeat, and you can’t hold back any longer. “I have to leave Beth’s class because I’m coming to Melissa’s, with you!” you turn to her finally, grinning.

“What?! You fucker!” she shoves you, but it’s playful. “I hate you!”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh. “I had to.”

“You suck!” and then, lower, with a hint of smirk you’ve come to label as ‘sexy’ “Lucky you’re so cute.”

“You can totally add smart to that,” you reply, revealing the paper with a flourish.

“Holy shit!” she exclaims, and it feels like everyone turns to look at you in that moment. “You got an A+?” she’s beaming again. Bright and brilliant, and so _incredibly_ beautiful. “I fucking knew it! See, I told you. Believe me now?” she adds, beginning to read the notes.

You nod, your eyes brimming with tears that have sprung up out of nowhere. The sheer wave of happiness that’s radiating from her is overwhelming. She’s happier for you than she would be for herself. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Yes you could,” she counters, sweetly. “I just helped.”

“You did so much more than that.”

Under the table, you take her free hand in yours, squeezing. Everything feels intimate suddenly, like you’re alone in a small room with low lights instead of outside in the afternoon sun on a crowded quad.

“God, I’m so fucking proud of you!” she beams, placing the paper on the table. She’s forgotten where you are too. “You’re amazing.”

Seconds later, she grabs your face, pressing quick little congratulatory pecks to your lips. You can feel her smiling in between them. It’s perfect. She’s kissing you. She’s kissing you in public and totally _not_ in the private safety of her room. You’re at school. Everyone can see.

 _Fuck_.

Someone whistles, or cheers, or _something_ and you both freeze, realising this information at the same time. She pulls away abruptly.

“Shit,” she breathes, panicked.

This wasn’t the plan, you were meant to be taking things slowly, doing this on your own timeline, not doing things with hugely public gestures. No one really knows about you both. You’re meant to be waiting until Amy’s grandma visits this week to tell everyone. The family dinner at Jacoby’s was going to be the big moment. An announcement. Formally. Somewhere between the blue plate special and the signature strawberry cake. That was the plan, anyway.

“You kissed me,” you reply, stupidly.

“I know.”

You’re both kind of shocked, but you’re still smiling. You look at her for what feels like a long time, and then, you laugh. It’s ridiculous. Why should it even matter? Who cares if Vashti runs a news item? So what if Lisbeth and Leila start running a fan club and selling those Karmy shirts they have to everyone? In all the crap you’ve been through in this last year or so, Amy’s been the bright spot. The good after so much bad. Amy’s a private person, and you’re going to honour that, but why should you keep holding back? There’s no real reason. If people don’t like it, screw them. You’re done caring about what they think or what they might say.

“And now, I’m going to kiss you.”

“Huh? What about taking it slow?” she leans back purposely to avoid you when you lean closer. “We said we’d keep things private for us.”

“I still want that Amy, but I this too,” you inch closer when she smiles. “No more holding back,” closer. “I’m yours now. I want everyone to know it.”

And then, you do it. You kiss her, knowing that people are watching. You kiss her light, and slow, and careful, just the way wanted to all those times in The Brew & Chew; on her front porch when she waited for you to get back from your shift; in the backseat of Shane’s car when he drove you all to Houston to see Taylor Swift and you screamed so much at her and Shawn Mendes that you lost your voice. You keep kissing her, even when you can hear Matt Paige hollering “Fuck yeah, Karmy’s back!” like it’s Christmas, Hanukkah, and Easter all rolled into one.

When you pull back reluctantly, you see Lauren and Shane standing on the other side of the table, they’re both grinning like idiots. The reality of what just happened sinks in. You bite your lip, blushing furiously and nestling into Amy’s neck to shield yourself until your embarrassment subsides. She wraps her arm around you, squeezing a little to comfort you. She knows it’s a big step - more like a chasm - but it’s done now. There’s no going back. Not that you’d want to.

“I _effing_ knew it!” Lauren declares dramatically.

“Told you!” Shane crows, elbowing her.

“Oh look at you, Veronica Mars!” she snorts.

“FYI ladies, I called this months ago,” he informs you as he sits down. “You’re so not subtle,” he continues. “You owe me fifty bucks, Cooper!”

Lauren glowers. “Extortionist.”

At that, you turn to look at Shane. “You bet on us?!”

“Easy money,” he replies, with a smirk. “I bet her you’d drop the ball and make out in public before Homecoming.”

“You two are the worst!” Amy laughs.

“For the record, I _already_ knew. I just picked the wrong date.”

She’s being her usual snarky self, but deep down, you know Lauren’s happy for you both. So is Shane. He listened to a lot while Amy was away and saw you at your unhappiest. You never believed him when he said things would work out. You wish you’d had a little more faith. Shane and Lauren are still talking, batting insults back and forth about who knew what and when they knew it, while Amy tells them both how ridiculous they’re being, but you stop listening. You stop listening because Amy has her arm around you and it feels like the most natural thing ever.

Then she’s reading over your paper and showing Shane and Lauren, eyes shining with pride. It doesn't matter that you’re still very much the focus of their attention – pretty much everyone on the quad is watching you – but you don’t really mind, because it feels good and it’s for the right reasons this time. You smile and nod when they give their congratulations and Amy kisses your temple, like it’s nothing at all and ignores their gentle teasing. It _is_ nothing at all. Being with her, loving her, is effortless. The world didn’t stop just because you’re together now, it carried on turning without asking anyway. Who knew?

You’ve earned this happiness – you went through too much not to think so – and now you’re going to soak up every second of it. Hugs, kisses, A+ papers, and writing competitions. All of it. Weeks ago, the thought of coming back to school and leaving the summer behind terrified you. It meant the end of everything. it meant the bubble would burst, but that’s not true. Nick Carraway was right, summer is about new beginnings, but now you’re living that what comes after that beginning: a new life, a better one than you ever hoped for.

Karmy _are_ back, but this time, nothing about it is fake.


End file.
